This is definitely the last chapter of this fic, but it leads on to another that I'm planning that will hopefully follow soon. Thank you for all your reviews, I always love to know what you all think. So as always, let me know! Amy xxx
Chapter Six.
It was a little after midnight when Holmes returned to Baker Street. He had left Irene asleep in her small flat with a silent promise to return. He had stroked her hair as she slept and cursed his own solitary nature. Looking up at the window of his rooms, all was dark and silent. He sighed as he approached the door. Twisting the key in the lock as silently as he could, he crept up the well-remembered steps. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed a flickering light from under the door. He approached slowly, gently turning the knob, he entered. His face relaxed into a smile as he saw Watson asleep in his chair, a small solitary candle glimmering by his side, a discarded book on the floor. Holmes walked over to him, deciding it would be better to wake him and alert him to his presence; than having Watson find him there without an explanation in the morning.
Holmes bent and touched Watson's arm gently, he immediately sprang awake, Must be all that time in the army, Holmes thought as Watson's eyes began to register him.
"Holmes?" Watson's voice was quiet, almost reverential. Holmes smiled.
"Yes it's me."
"When…How?" Watson faltered.
"Only just." Holmes replied, reading Watson's thoughts, as always, "I am recovered Watson, the Holmes you knew has returned, although that might not altogether be a good thing." Holmes smiled as he stood up.
"I can't believe it. Where have you been? Are you sure you are quite well?"
Holmes sank into the chair opposite gratefully, the feeling of home returning to his war-weary bones,
"I am more than recovered Watson, thanks to…Well, I'm grateful to a number of people. Not least of all you." Holmes paused in the process of lighting his pipe and looked across at his friend. Watson cleared his throat.
"I only did what anyone would have done."
"Nonsense Watson, you know I don't count modesty among a man's virtues, and you have no reason to be modest. Without you I would have been exposed to the world as a hopeless lunatic, only you believed me. You may have saved my life Watson – as well as my reputation." Holmes added with a whimsical smile.
"It was a life worth saving, and I think your reputation would have stood the test."
Holmes shrugged, and leaned his head back.
"Holmes…Where have you been?" Watson probed gently.
Holmes kept his head back and his eyes closed,
"My brother took me to the house I grew up in. It's been empty for years. I grew up in Sussex Watson; and by and large it was a happy childhood. A beautiful house set amongst rolling hills. It was peaceful. Overtly sinister in appearance perhaps, but peaceful for one such as myself. Mycroft knew well enough to let me alone and let my thoughts reorder themselves. This he did, he came to check on my progress, every day or so. If he was happy I was in no danger, away he would go again. Gradually I began to recover and yearned for the hurry of London. And so, I have returned. After renewing an old acquaintance – merely by accident – I came straight here."
Watson had listened without a word, he knew Holmes was not telling him all, but he accepted this because Holmes never did. Watson was simply grateful he had returned and he was well. There was something present in his eyes that Watson had not seen there before, some remnant of his illness perhaps. Watson could not be sure, but nevertheless Holmes was alive, and he was here. Watson sighed in silent gratitude.
"Are you going to bed Holmes?"
"Not just yet Watson. I think I'll sit up for a while, I have some things to think about."
A ring of smoke curled above Holmes' head as he spoke.
"A case?" Watson asked his voice tinged with excitement.
"It may perhaps lead to one Watson. Perhaps, if I can save her."
"Her?"
Holmes glanced at his friend, his eyes taking on the cold stare they had always held.
"Yes, her. The only her there will ever be in my life."
Watson raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He was puzzled but it was no use pushing Holmes, he did not respond to pressure.
"Well if you need me." Watson raised a hand in mock salute, not quite reaching his forehead. Holmes smiled.
"Thank you Watson, goodnight." His eyes returned to an empty fireplace. Watson remained for a minute, as if finding it hard to believe that Holmes was there, sitting in the chair he had always occupied and a chill crept to his heart. Whatever Holmes had returned as it was not the Holmes he remembered. This Holmes was saddened by life, corrupted by those he had fought against for so long. Watson feared this man a little. He sighed; Holmes had already forgotten he was there. Irene and her tears filled all his thoughts and the only course of action he could fix on was that of revenge. For himself and for her.